WHEN our two souls stand up erect and strong, br    Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, br    Until the lengthening wings break into fire br At either curving point,--what bitter wrong br Can the earth do us, that we should not long br    Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher, br    The angels would press on us, and aspire br To drop some golden orb of perfect song br Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay br    Rather on earth, Beloved--where the unfit br Contrarious moods of men recoil away br    And isolate pure spirits, and permit br A place to stand and love in for a day, br    With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.